


Tea for Three

by damozel



Category: The Innocents (1961), The Turn of the Screw - Henry James
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Madness, Misses Clause Challenge, Supernatural Elements, Yuletide, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 12:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damozel/pseuds/damozel
Summary: It's time for tea but the children aren't behaving.





	Tea for Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/gifts).



The woman who stood by the chipped, old-fashioned table was no longer young, but then she couldn't exactly be described as old either. Her dull-coloured hair was pulled up off her pretty, somewhat stern face, and her plain gown was neatly pressed. "Come now children," her crisp voice trilled out. "Flora! Miles! It's time for tea."

Her hands moved swiftly across the table-top, performing a ritual that had become terribly familiar over the years. First she reached for the willow pattern tea cups and saucers, carefully laying out three places. She added a china milk jug and matching sugar bowl, into which she placed a delicate pair of tongs. A plate of sandwiches would have done nicely, but Mrs Grose had forgotten to prepare them again. That woman was growing slacker all the time. The fireplaces were never made up any more, and Bly was growing colder, dirtier and more untidy with every week that passed. The quality of the housekeeper's cooking had also plummeted dramatically; she was certain the children wouldn't be able to stomach much more of the thick, greasy broth that continued to appear on the table before them. 

"Come on now, Flora!" she called again, a motherly note of annoyance creeping into her voice. "Miles, could you please hurry your sister along. As I've told you often enough, I expect a strapping, grown boy to lend a hand around the place from time to time."

She waited impatiently for a response, tapping her fingers against the table and letting out an exasperated sigh. This was all much more than she had ever agreed to. 

"I won't hear any more of this nonsense about Miss Jessel and Peter Quint," she called out again into the thin air. "Goodness me! That two such nicely-mannered and well brought up children would be drawn to such queer and dark fancies. There's quite enough evil in this world without the need to invent these demonic creations from beyond the grave."

The difficulty was that she didn't always believe her own words. As she lay alone in her narrow bed at night, struggling to get comfortable between the stiff rough sheets, she often caught sight of the dark hem of a woman's gown passing swiftly by the bedroom door. Or she would notice the flash of the governess's deep black eyes out of the corner of her own. Perhaps, after all, Miss Jessel would always be with her.

"Children! This is quite your last warning!" Her voice was approaching a shout, now. "The tea is growing cold, and I'm sure that you wouldn't wish for me to sit here and drink it alone."

At last she heard two small sets of footsteps running towards her. Nothing made her happier than the sight of that innocent young girl jogging towards her flush with excitement, her dark curls bobbing in the breeze. She was wearing her darling bonnet and matching frock again. Miles, coming up behind his sister, sported the characteristic expression of disdain that made him look so much older than his years, his lip slightly curled, his nose pinched in disgust. The woman stooped down, throwing her arms wide open. "My children, my children!"

~o~ 

"Who in the world does the poor creature imagine she is talking too?" A rotund, greying man, who sported a mutton chops beard, bent down towards the viewing flap that had been cut out of the thick wooden door. He pulled his silken plum waistcoat to one side, careful that his fob watch did not catch in the latch. He reached out and traced his finger along the edges of the sign that sat above the viewing flap. It contained only one name: "Miss Flora Wingrave."

Mr Horace Liverpool liked to think of himself as a gentleman of the world, but he was now thoroughly perplexed. "If I might state the obvious, doctor, surely the woman in the cell is the infamous Miss Flora Wingrave of Bly. But who then are the children she cries out for with such passion?" 

"It is perturbing indeed," sighed Dr James, placing a hand lightly on the shoulder of his gentleman visitor. "I do hope that the good Mrs Liverpool has not been too disturbed by Flora's little display."

"I'm perfectly fine," Mrs Liverpool retorted, smoothing down her dress, which was a similar shade of purple silk as her husband's waistcoat, and straightening her hat. "I assure you doctor that I am quite hardened to these matters. This is my third tour of an asylum this year."

"I do not doubt your strong stomach," the doctor replied, a half smile playing on his lips. "It's true that Flora's case is a particularly sad one. Of course there have been many rumours about events up at Bly a decade since. And I know no more about the truth of the matter than your average man on the street. But I am quite certain that the poor girl lost her brother in the most horrible of circumstances. Flora quite lost her mind after that and was admitted to our care by her doting uncle, who was unfortunately unable to take on the job himself owing to pressing work commitments."

"Yes, but if this is Flora," Mrs Liverpool interrupted, a puzzled look upon her face, "why does she constantly call out to a child of the same name?"

"Miss Wingrave's delusion is all too common, I'm afraid," the doctor replied with what he hoped was a wise crinkling of his brow. "The trauma was clearly too much for the fragile girl, and so she disassociated from her old identity entirely. Instead she took on the role of her beloved governess, one Miss Giddens I believe. Although on bad days she does act out the part of a rather darker character, a second governess by the name of Miss Jessel. She has lived here quite contentedly for the past ten years, taking care of her imaginary children and preparing tea for them each day."

"How very curious," remarked Mrs Liverpool coolly, patting her forehead with a delicately embroidered handkerchief. "All the same, perhaps it's now time that we took a little tea of our own."

"Yes of course, Mrs Liverpool." The doctor bowed down low to his esteemed lady guest. "We have everything prepared for you in the visitor's lounge. You'll find our cook's cakes to be quite exceptional."

"Good old Flora," the doctor mused to himself as he led the wealthy couple away. Visitors were so disappointed if they left without seeing the lunatics in action. After all, what is the point in taking a tour of an asylum if one doesn't leave with a good story or two to share over the dinner table? And dear Miss Wingrave was as reliable as clockwork.

He began to whistle quietly to himself as he trotted down the corridor ahead of his guests. He'd be certain of a good tip that afternoon.


End file.
